The Art of the Fugue
by Bad Octopus
Summary: The story of Charles and Nellie did not end with "The Wind and the Rain". Pull up a chair and enjoy this series of snapshots into the lives of our favorite Bostonian and his beloved Malone.
1. The Best Man

A/N: Yep, you guessed it. Bad Octopus is back with more M*A*S*H-ness. This time, a series of one-shots inspired by my story, "The Wind and the Rain". Apparently I just can't leave well enough alone. Each of these one-shots will be independent and unrelated to each other, but all will feature both the M*A*S*H cast and my own original characters, and will contain references to my story. But odds are, if you're reading this, you've probably already slogged your way through "The Wind and the Rain". (See what I did there?) Thanks go out to **blown-transistor** for beta reading. Now, without further ado, let's get started.

Disclaimer: I don't own M*A*S*H. The characters are simply on loan for the time being.

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The Art of the Fugue

a series of M*A*S*H vignettes

by Bad Octopus

* * *

The Best Man

Hawkeye Pierce was facing a crisis of epic proportions. He wasn't sure how it had happened — he had _allowed_ himself to make such a disastrous mistake. All he knew for absolute certainty was that if he did not rectify the situation immediately, heads were going to roll. His, to be precise.

He couldn't find his boutonnière anywhere.

He didn't recall setting it down, or what would have possessed him to do so in the first place. He knew he had been wearing it when he had poured himself a cup of coffee in the morning room of the massive, sprawling, obscenely opulent estate that Charles Emerson Winchester the Third called home, sweet home. But that was precious little help, in light of the fact that he couldn't find his coffee cup, either.

It was moments like this that worried Hawkeye. He never used to be so absent-minded, but lately, he had been experiencing bouts of inattention with alarming regularity. More and more frequently, he found himself so absorbed in his thoughts that he gradually became oblivious to his surroundings. As a result, he often forgot what he was doing, or missed snatches of conversation, or rearranged objects without realizing he had done so. It was one of the reasons why he had put his medical practice on hiatus for the time being.

Well, that, and the flashbacks. And the insomnia. And the crippling fear.

Sighing in frustration, he smoothed down his thick salt-and-pepper hair for perhaps the twentieth time. He had to focus on the task at hand. _If I were a boutonnière, where would I be?_ he thought, feeling vaguely ridiculous even as the thought entered his mind.

Navigating through a sea of servants, caterers, and wedding guests, Hawkeye wandered through the enormous mansion, attempting to retrace his steps. He searched his guest room, where he had donned his new tuxedo earlier in the day, as well as the glass-walled conservatory, where he had practiced his speech. But no matter where he looked, he came up empty-handed. He started to suspect that it had been carried off by one of the staff.

He was about to try the morning room again when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd of guests milling around in the large, echoing entrance hall. Quickly, he made his way through the throng until he reached the tall, trim figure of his best friend.

"Hey, Beej," he said, laying his hand on the man's shoulder. "Have you seen my boutonnière?"

B.J. Hunnicutt affected a look of surprised disgust. "Watch your language, Hawk. There are ladies present."

"Come on, I'm serious."

"Since when?"

Hawkeye shot him an impatient glare. "Will you quit kidding around? This is important. If I don't find it, Charles is going to cut me out of his will. I don't know if I'm in it or not, but I'm definitely not taking any chances."

B.J. shrugged with an annoying lack of concern. "I wouldn't worry about it. I'm sure the florists made extras. They must plan for this sort of thing to happen." He took in his friend's harried appearance with a raised eyebrow. "Relax, will you? Anyone would think _you're_ the one who was getting married today."

"I know, I know." Hawkeye took a deep breath. "I just don't want to screw up. I mean, this is a big deal. Isn't it?"

"Pretty big." B.J. shook his head in amazement. "I still can't believe Charles asked you to be his best man. I never saw that coming. Did you?"

Hawkeye was about to say no, but something stopped him. Out of all the people he had encountered during his time at the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, Major Charles Emerson Winchester had been the slowest to acclimate to his new posting. For months he had resented his commanding officer, had refused to let anyone get close to him, and had more or less loathed his very existence. By his words and actions, the Bostonian surgeon had made it explicitly clear that he was not interested in making friends. Hawkeye had never met a more antisocial person in his life. Not even Frank Burns.

But gradually, and almost against his will, Charles began to warm to the members of his unit. He was never exactly a social butterfly, but he seemed to tolerate the association of a select few, and occasionally even sought them out. But the biggest change in his attitude came with the arrival of a scrappy red-haired little nurse named Fenella Malone.

Frizzy-haired, freckled, and bespectacled, Nellie hadn't made much of an impression on Hawkeye, at least at first. She was quiet and reserved, and seemed more interested in her books than in engaging with the people around her. But with the help of the friends she made, as well as a somewhat stunning makeover, she eventually came out of her shell, and even endeared herself to the camp. And, in particular, to Charles.

To say that their relationship had been smooth sailing would not be an accurate description of events. For all her bookishness, Nellie was surprisingly stubborn when she chose to be, and Charles's arrogance was the stuff of legend. In spite of their differences, however, they each found in the other a kindred spirit. Somehow, Nellie managed to get through Charles's defenses, and was able to bring out a side in him that Hawkeye had only glimpsed a few times before. He was still an insufferable windbag, of course, but there was a slight softening. Improbable as it was, he seemed content, even happy. As for Nellie, she preferred the major's company over that of anyone else in the camp, including Maxwell Klinger, the cheerful company clerk whom she had briefly dated, and of whom she was still immensely fond. Perhaps it was inevitable, then, that they fell in love.

Unfortunately for both of them, Charles was an idiot. Because Nellie was the daughter of an Irish factory worker and not a high-born aristocrat, he had convinced himself that his parents would never approve of the match. As it turned out, his fears were completely groundless, but in his mind, he had already lost her. So instead of telling her the truth, he decided the only course of action was to push her away. As confused as she was hurt, Nellie grew more despondent every day, her misery compounded by the fact that her kid brother Danny, whom she had gone to Korea to be near, was temporarily declared missing in action. And so Hawkeye watched as the two suffered in silence, both too proud to tell the other of their true feelings.

In the end, it had taken an aerial strike which had nearly cost Nellie her leg — and her life — for Charles to realize that she meant more to him than the wrath of his family. To the delight of Hawkeye and everyone else who was rooting for them, he finally came clean and confessed his love, which was wholeheartedly returned. But their new-found bliss was short-lived; Nellie's injury, which had left her with partial paralysis of her left leg and foot, had earned her a one-way ticket back to the States.

At first Charles had been devastated; in fact, it would not have been a stretch to say that he'd been a walking Greek tragedy. But they maintained their long-distance romance, and as soon as the war ended and Charles was once again reunited with 'his Malone', he wasted no time in proposing to her. After all, they had waited long enough.

When Hawkeye had answered the telephone call in his home in Crabapple Cove, Maine, and heard Charles's familiar upper-class Boston Brahmins drawl, asking in an amusingly formal, stilted tone if he would consent to being his best man, Hawkeye was less surprised than he should have been. But the fact was that during the few months leading up to the signing of the peace treaty, he and Charles had become rather close — closer than he would have thought was possible. Hawkeye had always known that there was more to the man than the uptown snob that he portrayed himself as most of the time, but recently he had noticed a subtle shift. He had opened up to Hawkeye on more than one occasion, had had serious conversations with him, and even shared details about his life which he usually kept private. Hawkeye wasn't certain whether it was time that had changed him, or if it was due to the influence of his wife-to-be, but somewhere along the way, Charles had become very important to him. But he hadn't been sure if Charles felt the same way. Until now.

Suddenly he was literally shaken out of his thoughts as he was jostled from behind by another wedding guest. He tried to recall what B.J. had asked him.

"Sorry, what'd you say?" he asked, annoyed with himself for allowing his mind to wander yet again.

"Charles. Asking you to be his best man. I never saw it coming, did you?"

"Oh, yeah." Hawkeye shrugged. "I don't know, I guess he figured someone had to do it. I'm just as good as anybody else."

"I suppose."

He raised an eyebrow at his friend. "You're not jealous, are you?" he asked with a teasing smile.

B.J. waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, of course not. I think it's great. Just... surprising."

"Yeah, well..." Hawkeye smoothed his lapels with an air of great formality. "It's no use trying to understand Charles. What matters is that I got a brand new tux out of the deal."

"You really do have a grasp of the important things," B.J. remarked with a grin.

At that moment, Hawkeye saw a tall, statuesque, dark-haired figure in a stunning violet bridesmaid's dress striding toward them on long legs. His breath hitched slightly as Honoria Winchester graced him with a sunny smile.

"Dr. Pierce," she said as she approached them, "your button-hole is looking rather lonely. Misplace something?"

Hawkeye exhaled in pure relief as she held up his missing boutonnière — a late-blooming iris which matched the hue of her dress perfectly. "There it is! Where'd you find it?"

He attempted to take it from her, but she slapped his hand away. "It was on the credenza in the upstairs hallway," she replied, affixing the flower to his lapel. "Along with an ice-cold cup of coffee."

Charles's younger sister spoke with a slight stutter when pronouncing certain consonants, but the impediment in no way diminished her effortless charm. In truth, Hawkeye barely noticed it anymore. "Thank you," he told her sincerely. "I am eternally grateful."

"You're very welcome, Dr. Pierce," Honoria replied courteously.

"Call me Hawkeye," he said. "Nicknames aren't just for mob bosses, you know."

"Indeed?" She arched an elegant eyebrow. "In that case, call me Honey."

Hawkeye regarded her with some surprise. "Really?" he purred, flashing her his most suave smile.

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous." Hawkeye's face fell, making Honoria laugh in delight. "We're just about to begin," she said, patting him on the arm. "I suggest you gentlemen take your respective places."

He watched her until she melted into the crowd. Then he turned to find B.J. watching him in undisguised amusement.

"She's cute," he observed in a deceptively guileless tone.

"She's Charles's baby sister," said Hawkeye firmly.

"Uh-huh," he said wryly. Damn that B.J., he knew him too well.

Keeping an eye out for possible eavesdroppers, Hawkeye leaned in close and lowered his voice. "Look, what do you want me to say? That she's funny, smart, and devastatingly gorgeous? That I've never met anyone like her? And that when I _did_ meet her, I had a vision of myself pushing her on a swing in a rose garden, while bluebirds whistled 'Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life' overhead? Oh, you'd just _love_ it if I said all those things, wouldn't you?"

"Are they true?" B.J. asked seriously.

"I..." He sighed in resignation. "It doesn't matter. She's Charles's baby sister. Which automatically elevates her to the status of untouchable."

B.J. smiled, in that infuriatingly understanding, sympathetic way that he always smiled. "If you say so, Hawk," he said kindly. He gave him a stinging slap on the back, nearly knocking his boutonnière loose. "But I think she likes you."

Hawkeye waved a fist at him, but he simply laughed and sauntered away. Typical.

Shaking his head, Hawkeye made his way to the great hall, where the wedding ceremony would shortly be taking place. Most of the guests were already seated; among the sea of unfamiliar faces, he was able to spot Sherman Potter, sitting between his wife Mildred and Walter-formerly-Radar O'Reilly. Even Margaret Houlihan, who had adamantly proclaimed she wouldn't be able to attend, had arrived at the last minute and found a seat near the back. The only guest that was conspicuously absent was Max Klinger, who was still in Korea with his wife. But he had sent the bride his best string of pearls.

As Hawkeye took his place next to the altar, he beamed up at Father Francis Mulcahy, who was officiating over the wedding. He felt a pang as he saw the bulky hearing aid device in the former Army chaplain's ear. It was an aching reminder of what the war had cost all of them. Not even the nice guys escaped unscathed.

He looked over at Charles, who was already standing by the altar, looking shiny and immaculate and unusually at ease. If it hadn't been for the tuxedo he was wearing, he might have been waiting for a bus.

Hawkeye stepped closer to him. "Nervous?" he asked in a low voice.

"Not at all," Charles replied in his usual unruffled manner. "Why on earth should I be?"

Hawkeye chuckled. "Most men find the prospect of settling down with one woman for the rest of their lives to be a little... scary."

The Bostonian snorted. "Come off it, Pierce. Not all men share your fatal allergy to commitment."

"Thanks."

Charles's lips twitched in a brief smile. "This may come as something of a surprise to you, but as much as I enjoy solitude now and then, I find Malone's company to be even more charming than my own." Hawkeye laughed; some things never changed. "No, I have no qualms about sharing my life with her," he continued in a softer tone. "On the contrary, I look forward to the coming years with keen anticipation."

Hawkeye smiled. "She's quite a catch." He clapped a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "I'm happy for you, Charles. I really am."

"Thank you, Hawkeye," he said simply.

The music began, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen began their procession down the aisle. B.J. and Honoria came first, followed by Kealani Kellye and one of Charles's relatives. Finally came the flower girl, B.J.'s young daughter Erin, scattering petals with a look of intense concentration on her face and earning chuckles from the onlookers.

And then the Wedding March began to play, and the bride came into view. On the arm of her brother Danny, Nellie Malone approached the altar, the long, full skirt of her gown concealing her limp as she nearly floated down the aisle, holding a bouquet of irises. More irises were weaved into her copper hair. Around her neck were Klinger's pearls, and an enormous, crooked smile was on her freckled face. She was, in a word, radiant.

Hawkeye looked over at Charles. He seemed to have stopped breathing altogether, and tears were swimming in his eyes. But there was a smile on his face that, until now, he had always reserved solely for Mozart.

As Nellie handed her bouquet to Kellye and took her place at Charles's side, Hawkeye thought back to the circumstances that had brought the pair together. How different they had seemed.

A brilliant blue-blooded doctor from Boston, consigned to exile in Korea following a disastrous game of cribbage.

A sweet, bookish nurse with an unexpected courageous streak and a compulsive need to protect her little brother from the ravages of war.

Hawkeye smiled, blinking back tears of his own.

Who knew that a chance meeting in Hell would produce a match made in Heaven?

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A/N: Some of my readers expressed a desire for more details about the wedding, so that's where I started. Hope you enjoyed it. More to come. :)

-Octopus


	2. The Kid

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews. You guys are seriously the best. You had some awesome ideas for future stories. I have quite a few of my own that I've already begun to write, but I'll definitely keep your suggestions in mind. And thanks, as always, to **blown-transistor** for beta reading. Check out her _M*A*S*H_ story, by the way!

Oh, and yes, I drew the cover image. I have too much time on my hands.

Disclaimer: I don't own _M*A*S*H_. Or Charles, unfortunately. But that's probably for the best. You shouldn't own people, anyway.

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The Art of the Fugue

a series of _M*A*S*H_ vignettes

by Bad Octopus

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The Kid

"Soo-Min? Sweetheart, it's time to wake up. The plane has landed. Goodness, she's out like a light."

"I'm not surprised. An eighteen-hour flight, with three layovers along the way. It's little wonder the poor child is exhausted."

"She's not the only one. You wouldn't object to carrying her, would you?"

"Of course not. Nothing would bring me greater joy. It's not as if my back were screaming in agony."

"I'm sorry, love. We can wake her up."

"No, no, don't wake her. I'll be all right. I simply enjoy complaining, that's all."

"It _is_ your favorite pastime."

"Shrew."

"Baby."

Charles Winchester stifled a chuckle as he leaned down and scooped the sleeping girl up into his arms. Soo-Min's dark head lolled against his shoulder, and she made a small noise in her sleep, but showed no signs of stirring from her deep slumber. Despite his protests, she really didn't weigh much at all; an unfortunate side effect, no doubt, of being underfed all six years of her short life. The thought produced in him a strange combination of outrage and protectiveness.

Beside him, his wife Fenella Winchester née Malone reached up and gently brushed the child's smooth blue-black hair out of her face. "I wonder what she's dreaming about," she mused quietly.

"Mountains of food and feather mattresses, I hope," he muttered.

Malone quirked a tired, crooked smile. Behind her glasses, her eyes were heavy-lidded and smudged with dark circles. "I doubt she's ever seen a feather mattress, Charles," she pointed out.

"Well, then, let's remedy that injustice, shall we?"

Casting an affectionate glance at him, she reached past him and picked up her cane, wincing slightly as she did so. Immediately Charles regretted moaning about his back. No doubt, after being wedged in an uncomfortable position during the seemingly interminable flight to Boston, her leg was causing her extreme pain, as well.

Motioning for her to precede him, he followed her off the plane, careful not to disturb his precious cargo. Speaking of mattresses, he could not wait to get home and dive headfirst onto his own. It seemed like an eternity since they had left Boston, though in reality they had only been gone for a week. They had wanted to give Soo-Min some time to become better acquainted with them, and to say goodbye to the other children at the orphanage in Incheon, before taking her back with them to the States. During their stay at the orphanage, they had been obliged to sleep on a narrow straw-filled mattress on the floor. As a result, Charles woke each morning feeling a decade older than he'd felt the night before, with aches in places he previously hadn't known existed.

On the taxi ride from the airport, he remembered how brave Soo-Min had been when leaving the orphanage. After all, she was leaving the only home she had ever known, to live in a foreign country where absolutely nothing was familiar, with people who were almost complete strangers to her. She could have been terrified, and understandably so. But instead, with a trust that had humbled him, she had placed her tiny hand in his without hesitation and asked, "Can we go home now?"

It was getting close to dinner time when the taxi pulled up in front of their town home in Beacon Hill, but according to Charles's watch, which was still set to South Korea time, it was nearly six in the morning. The sky was dark and cloudy, and a light rain was beginning to fall. While Malone paid the driver, Charles gently nudged the child, still asleep in his arms.

"Soo-Min. Wake up now. We're home."

The girl's sloe eyes fluttered open, and she gave an enormous stretch, nearly hitting him in the face with a flailing arm. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Home? We are in Boston?" She screwed up her little features, trying to remember the name they had told her. "Boston, Match-of-Two-Sits?"

"You're getting closer," he replied with a chuckle. "Come on, little one, up, up."

Soo-Min slid off his lap and clambered out of the taxi. Her eyes went wide as she took in her surroundings. Of course, she had never seen anything remotely resembling this new place in which she now found herself: the towering buildings, the cars zipping back and forth, the Americans walking up and down the street in their splendid clothing. It must have been like suddenly landing on a different planet.

"This one is ours," he told her, pointing to the brick town home in front of them.

"You live _here?_ " she asked in amazement.

"That's right," said Malone as she came to join them. "And now you live here, too."

A look of awe and disbelief spread over the little girl's face. "I live in a castle," she whispered to herself. Charles and Malone shared a smile.

"Come on, Princess," his wife told her, "let's go inside."

As they stepped into the foyer, setting down their bags, Charles smelled something cooking and was for a brief moment highly disconcerted. Then he remembered that Malone's younger brother Danny was staying in their house, to look after their dog while they were gone. Right on cue, he heard the padding of enormous paws on the parquet floor as the mastiff came bounding up to greet his masters.

Soo-Min hid behind Charles's legs in alarm. "There's no need to be frightened," he assured her. "Old Bruno here wouldn't hurt a fly. Would you, boy?"

"It's all right, Soo-Min," said Malone. "Bruno is a nice dog. Why don't you pet him?"

Biting her lip in trepidation, Soo-Min reached out a hand toward the mastiff, who sniffed at it curiously. Slowly, she stroked the dog's giant head, laughing as he wagged his tail so hard that it appeared in danger of flying across the room.

"Hey, you're home!" Charles looked up to see Danny's tall, gangling figure coming down the hallway toward him. "I didn't know if you'd be here in time for dinner, but I made enough for everyone, just in case." He gave a huge, crooked grin as his eyes fell on Soo-Min, who was scratching Bruno behind the ears. "Is this my new niece?"

"Indeed it is," said Charles.

The young man knelt down in front of the girl. "Hi, Soo-Min," he said, taking her hand and shaking it. "My name is Danny."

"Nice to meet you," she said politely.

His grin grew wider. "It's very nice to meet you," he answered. "I'm Nellie's brother. You want to know how you can tell?" He gestured to his curly red hair. "We both look like we've eaten too many carrots."

Soo-Min giggled.

He climbed to his feet, dusting off his trousers. "Holy mackerel, Charles," he said to his brother-in-law. "I'm not sure, but she might possibly be the prettiest thing I've ever seen. Don't be surprised if I spoil her rotten."

"Don't be surprised if I beat you to it."

Danny laughed. "You must be hungry, Soo-Min. I made meatloaf and mashed potatoes. It's all I know how to make, but I promise you'll like it. Follow me."

"Oh, goody," Charles muttered under his breath as he watched Soo-Min and Danny head toward the kitchen, the dog trailing after them. "And here I thought my days of pressed meat had ended when the mess tent at the 4077th came down."

"Hush," said Malone, elbowing him in the side. "It was very sweet of him." Charles gave a noncommittal grunt. "How do you think she's taking all this?" she asked.

"It's difficult to say," he replied thoughtfully. "I confess I had been rather concerned that the poor girl would be overwhelmed by all of... this." He gestured expansively, as if to encompass all of Boston. "But children are incredibly quick to adapt. So far she seems to be adjusting surprisingly well."

"I think so, too." She sighed. "I just hope she's not putting on a brave face. She should know it's okay to be scared."

"Feeling overprotective already, are we, Mother?" Charles teased.

Malone's freckled face contorted into an expression of disgust. "Don't call me 'Mother'. It's creepy."

"My deepest and most abject apologies... 'Mama-san'."

She elbowed him again, and he chuckled and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Let's join the rest of the family, shall we?" he suggested.

Malone reached up and kissed his cheek. "Lead the way, Papa-san."

After dinner, Danny took his leave and returned to his on-campus dormitory at Harvard's Lowell House, on the other side of the Charles River. While Malone got Soo-Min bathed and ready for bed, Charles took the opportunity to telephone his mother and father to inform them that they had arrived home safely.

When he and Malone had first announced their intention to adopt, his parents had not been overly enthusiastic about the idea; after all, they had no doubt assumed that their first grandchild would be a direct descendant of the Winchester line. Understandably, they had not prepared themselves for the possibility that it would prove to be a six-year-old Korean child instead. But even if his parents did not quite comprehend their decision, they had eventually come to respect it. His father had even given him his own personal seal of approval — namely, an awkward handshake and a barely perceptible smile.

In contrast, Charles's sister Honoria had been positively ecstatic about the idea from the very beginning. And she was adamantly insistent upon being called "Aunty H."

By the time Malone entered the bedroom, Charles was already sitting up in bed in his pajamas, attempting to read by lamplight and failing quite badly. Putting his book aside, he watched in amusement as she proceeded to throw off her clothes and toss them in every direction.

"Did you have any problems putting her to bed?" he inquired, as a shoe went sailing across the room.

She shook her head as she selected a peach silk nightgown from the wardrobe and tugged it on over her head. "Not really. She just can't quite believe that her bedroom is the same size as her entire classroom at the orphanage."

Charles chuckled. "If she thinks this place is a castle, we may need to keep some smelling salts handy when we take her to the Wellesley estate tomorrow." Malone laughed as she went into the adjoining bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. "You know," he continued when she returned, "I'd never fully appreciated what a privileged existence I've had, until I saw how people lived in Korea. I was rather ashamed when I realized just how many things I had always taken for granted."

"It's okay," she said as she crawled into bed beside him. "It's not your fault you were a spoiled brat." She yelped as he poked her in the ribs. "I said 'were'! Past-tense!"

Switching off the lamp, Charles settled back into his pillows, smiling as Malone immediately curled up against him and draped her arm around his waist. "Happy Anniversary, by the way," he murmured into her ear.

She gave him a squeeze. "Happy Anniversary," she said softly. "I can't believe it's been a whole year already."

"Unfortunately, I only have a six-month return policy, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me indefinitely."

"I'll try my best to bear up under the hardship." Charles snorted. "So, what did you get me?" she asked in a cloying, sing-song voice. She knew very well, of course, that with their lives being as hectic as they had been recently, they had agreed to forego any gifts for the time being.

"I got you a daughter," Charles replied, trying to sound as gruff as possible. "What more do you want from me, woman?"

Malone laughed. "Nothing. She's just what I wanted." Propping herself up on her elbow, she leaned in and kissed him. "Thank you."

"She is a remarkable child, isn't she?" he mused. "So very trusting and compliant."

"Well, she was raised by nuns, after all," she pointed out. "Trust and compliance are kind of their thing."

"Touché."

She lay back down, resting her cheek against his shoulder. For a while they were silent, listening to the sounds of the traffic below, and the rain pattering on the window panes. And then Charles found himself speaking again.

"I must confess, I've had some reservations going into this whole venture." Malone's head shot up sharply, and she looked at him in surprise. "Not about her, no, not at all," he hastened to assure her. She relaxed, and he attempted to explain. "You see, having grown up in a household in which affection was very rarely shown, I'm... concerned that that might..." He cleared his throat. "Might extend to my own abilities as a parent."

Malone reached out for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "Charles," she said, quietly but firmly, "in the entire year we've been married, I have never _once_ felt deprived of affection. You have been a wonderful husband."

Moved, he found his next words were a little harder to get out. "I'm glad to hear that. I just... hope I am capable of being the father that Soo-Min deserves."

Releasing his hand, Malone cupped the side of his face. "You already are," she whispered.

Wordlessly, Charles drew her close and pressed his lips to hers. She gave a shaky sigh in response, wrapping her arms around his neck and arching her body against his. That never seemed to grow old.

They broke apart for an instant. "Tired?" he asked in a throaty rumble.

"Not _that_ tired," she replied breathlessly.

He kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly, feeling her delicious contours through her thin silk nightgown. And then, as always, a thrill went through him as her little fingers snaked between them and began to unbutton his shirt.

Above the rain, there was a long, low roll of thunder in the distance. As Charles could have predicted, his wife went rigid with fear. "Oh, for pity's sake," she groaned.

"Never mind that," he murmured, running his hand up and down her side. "It's a long way off."

Her tension slowly ebbed under his ministrations, until she was fully distracted by his hands and his lips. He had just begun to trace his fingers caressingly along the scar on her thigh, when there was a faint knock at the door.

Suddenly Malone was shoving against his chest. "Off, off!" she hissed frantically. "We don't want to traumatize the poor kid!" They both sat up, Charles quickly buttoning his shirt as Malone turned on her bedside lamp. "Yes, Soo-Min?" she called.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Soo-Min stood in the doorway, dressed in one of her new nightgowns and clutching her ragdoll. "Mama?" she said, her voice trembling slightly.

The endearing appellation produced a strange, tight sensation in Charles's throat. Judging from the look on his wife's face, it appeared to have had the same effect on her. "What's wrong?" she inquired gently.

"I'm scared," the girl said simply.

"Is it the thunder?" Soo-Min nodded, her eyes wide with fear. "Would you like to sleep in here with us?" Malone asked, glancing at Charles.

"Can I?"

She looked so small and frightened, Charles could hardly bear it. "Of course you can, little one," he told her. "Come here."

The child approached the edge of the bed, and he picked her up and settled her between him and Malone. "There now," he said soothingly. "Everything's all right. There's no need to fear thunder. It's simply a side effect of a pressure change in the upper atmosphere." She looked up at him blankly. "Err... Cloud noises," he clarified.

Malone laughed softly under her breath. Soo-Min, on the other hand, was less than satisfied with his explanation. She hunkered down beneath the blankets, covering her head completely. "I don't like it," she said, her voice muffled.

"Why is that?" he asked her.

He heard a quiet sniffle. "It sounds like the bombs."

Charles felt a pang as he and Malone shared another glance. After wiping quickly at her eyes, Malone said, "I don't like thunder, either, honey. But your papa's right. It won't hurt you."

Slowly, Soo-Min peeked out from under the covers, gazing up at Charles with her large, impossibly lovely almond eyes. "You will keep me safe?" she asked.

Charles swallowed around a sudden obstruction in his throat. "Always," he said tightly. Awkwardly, he reached out and patted her head. "Now, go to sleep, Soo-Min."

She nodded. "Okay. I will try."

As Malone switched off the lamp, Soo-Min lay her head on the edge of his pillow. "Good night, Mama. Good night, Papa."

"Good night, Soo-Min," Malone replied.

After a brief hesitation, Charles moved her long black hair aside and pressed a kiss to her forehead. " _Jal ja, nae ttal,_ " he murmured.

 _Sleep well, my daughter._

* * *

A/N: I'm such a sap. I've made myself all verklempt. Talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic: What did you think? Did you like it? Do you have any other requests for future one-shots? Let me know.

-Octopus


	3. The Trip

A/N: Yeah, I suck. I'd planned on updating a _lot_ more frequently, but... there were issues. Without going into details, let's just say I had a nervous breakdown, and leave it at that. (Except to add that you always think it'll never happen to you, and boy, is that a naïve assumption.) Anyway, I'm feeling much better, and aside from being majorly sad about David Bowie and Alan Rickman, I think I'm finally in the right mind frame to write something. So here goes.

My thanks, as always, to **blown-transistor** for beta reading! You are awesome, lady.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of _M*A*S*H_ except the box set.

* * *

The Art of the Fugue

a series of _M*A*S*H_ vignettes

by Bad Octopus

* * *

The Trip

Charles Winchester sat behind the wheel of the rental car as it idled at the curb, staring in utter disbelief. On the other side of the street, in a quiet residential neighborhood, stood a quaint little light blue house with a pretty, well-kept yard, surrounded by a white picket fence. Sprawled on the front porch lay a striped cat, sunning itself. A tire swing hung from the tree in the middle of the lawn, swinging lazily in the summer breeze.

It was, in a word, lovely.

There had to be some mistake.

"Are you _certain_ that this is the correct address?" Charles pressed his wife, sitting beside him in the passenger seat.

"For the last time, _yes,_ " Malone replied with a touch of exasperation. "1251 North Michigan Avenue. Trust me. I've heard it so many times, it's been permanently burned into my brain."

Charles shook his head slowly, still unconvinced. "This can't be the right house," he said stubbornly.

"Why not? He said it was a blue house with white shutters. This _has_ to be it."

He subjected the house to several seconds of close scrutiny. He had to admit that it was difficult to refute the facts, particularly when the address was neatly painted on the mailbox in front of the place.

"I suppose," he said slowly. "Although I was expecting something a little more... dilapidated. With cardboard over the windows. Or," he added in a burst of inspiration, "perhaps the rusted shell of an old refrigerator lying in the front yard."

Charles could feel the heat of Malone's glare without even looking at her. "Be nice," she said sternly.

"Yeah, Papa, be nice," came a voice from the back seat.

Charles twisted around in his seat to see his adopted daughter Soo-Min sitting with her arms folded across her chest, her lips pursed in disapproval. "Et tu, Brute?" he asked her accusingly.

He felt Malone swat him lightly on the arm to get his attention. "I'm serious, Charles," she said. "You'd better be on your best behavior. No insults, no snide comments. Are we clear?"

"Malone, I am wounded," he replied with feigned hurt. "Are you implying that I am incapable of being civil to that hairy harlequin?"

"What's a harlequin?" Soo-Min asked.

"You'll find out soon enough, Min," he told her with a smirk.

Malone was not amused in the slightest. "Fine," she said in a flat tone, and he knew — oh God, he knew from _that tone_ that he'd gone too far. "Go ahead. Laugh. This means a lot to me. _He_ means a lot to me. And he should mean a lot to you. Do you think I'd be alive right now, if he hadn't been behind the wheel of that ambulance when you came to rescue me? Do you think Soo-Min would be with us, if he hadn't tracked her down? You _owe_ him, Charles Winchester. We _all_ do."

Sufficiently chastised, Charles took her hand in his. "Darling, I was only teasing," he said in what he hoped was an appeasing voice. "Do you imagine I would have agreed to fly us all the way out to this God-forsaken town, if he didn't mean anything to me? I've known him even longer than you have, Malone." He quirked a slight, wry smile. "As humiliating as it is for me to admit this, he is not the sort of friend that one easily tosses aside."

His wife arranged her face into an annoyed moue which he found altogether too attractive. "Well... good," she answered. "I guess."

Charles reached across the car and smoothed her furrowed brow. "Don't scowl so," he murmured. "He won't recognize you." Slowly, and seemingly against her will, she gave a small, crooked smile. "Ah. There you are," he said warmly.

She leaned in and kissed him, to the expressed disgust of their daughter in the back seat. "All right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said decisively.

"Come on, then."

"Yay!" Soo-Min cheered.

"Yay!" Malone echoed.

Chuckling under his breath, Charles climbed out of the car and followed them up the walkway to the porch, where Soo-Min immediately began making friends with the resident feline. Malone rang the bell, and Charles heard a crash issue from somewhere inside the house, followed by a familiar voice cursing in Arabic. Finally the front door opened, and Maxwell Klinger stood before them, grinning from ear to ear.

" _Nellie!_ " he exclaimed.

"Maximus!" she answered in kind.

Charles gave a long-suffering sigh as the former sergeant picked Malone up and swung her in a circle, causing her to shriek in delight. "Okay, okay, that's enough! You're making me dizzy!"

"Sorry, Nell," he said sheepishly as he set her on her feet, her blouse rumpled and her glasses askew. "I got a little over-excited. Major!" He grasped Charles's hand and shook it with equal enthusiasm. "I mean, Charles! It's great to see you again!"

The man's simple joy was so infectious that Charles was unable to suppress a smile of his own. "Likewise, Max," he replied. "You're... looking very well."

Klinger laughed. "You flatter me, Charles." He shook his head in amazement. "Boy. Never thought I'd say those words in that order."

He turned his attention to Soo-Min, who was scratching the cat under its chin. "Hey, there she is!" Without preamble, he lifted her up and hoisted her onto his hip. "Hi, kiddo. You remember me, don't you? From Korea? Remember what I taught you?"

With a nod, Soo-Min reached up and squeezed his prominent hooked nose. "Honk, honk," she said.

The adults burst out laughing. "Good memory," he told her.

At that moment a very pretty young Korean woman came to the door, a scarf in her long dark hair and a radiant smile on her face. "Welcome, Winchesters!" she said, coming forward and embracing Malone. "Nellie, it is wonderful to finally meet you."

"You too, Soon-Lee," she replied. "I only wish we could have met much sooner."

Soon-Lee released her and turned to Charles. "Dr. Winchester, it is very nice to see you again."

He bowed over her hand and brought it to his lips in a chaste kiss. "You as well, Soon-Lee. But you must call me Charles."

"Of course." Beaming, she greeted Soo-Min with a graceful bow. " _Hwanyonghamnida,_ Soo-Min _-ssi_ ," she said.

" _Kamsahamnida_ ," the girl answered politely.

"Please, come inside!" Soon-Lee entreated, beckoning them into the house. "Would you like coffee? Tea? I made some lemonade for Soo-Min."

"Lemonade sounds perfect," said Malone.

Klinger set Soo-Min down. "Here, let me help you with your bags, Charles," he offered.

"Thank you, Max," said Charles in mild surprise. "Very gracious of you."

The Lebanese gave a dismissive shrug. "Hey, you know me. You can take the schmoe out of the clerk's office, but you can't take the clerk out of the schmoe." They crossed the street to the rental car and began unloading it. "So have you heard from any of the old gang lately?" he asked.

Charles nodded absently. "Malone and Kellye maintain a regular correspondence. Father Mulcahy came to see us not long after we brought Soo-Min home. We get a letter now and then from Margaret, Potter, Hunnicutt. And Radar." He smiled ever so slightly at this. "And, of course, Pierce continues to inflict his foul presence upon us."

Klinger knew Charles better than to take his comment seriously. "That's nice," he remarked. "I'm glad he has you guys so close. I was pretty worried about him for a while."

"As was I," Charles murmured, almost to himself.

He closed the trunk of the car to find Klinger regarding him with that same old irrepressible smile. "It really is good to see you again, Charles," he told him sincerely. "And you know something? Being a family man suits you."

Unexpectedly touched, Charles allowed himself a small, wry smile. "Shocking, isn't it?" he drawled. Klinger just laughed.

They went inside the house, and Charles followed his host into a small but cozy sitting room, where Malone and Soon-Lee were chatting on the sofa. The room was decorated in a typical Midwestern style with, perhaps unsurprisingly, a splash of both Korean and Middle Eastern influences. The effect was odd and just a touch silly, but somehow welcoming.

"Max," said Malone as they entered, "I was just telling Soon-Lee that your home is lovely. It has an effortless air of _bonhomie_ , just like you."

"Oh, Nell," Klinger said with a fond shake of his head as he perched himself on the armrest beside his wife. "I missed you and your ten-dollar words."

"Shut up."

He grinned. "I missed that, too. Hey, have I got a great week planned for all of us!"

"God save us," Charles muttered, sinking into an armchair.

"I didn't miss _that_ ," Klinger said dryly. "As I was saying, you guys came just in time for baseball season. I got us all tickets to the Mud Hens game on Saturday."

Soo-Min proceeded to hop up onto Charles's lap while holding a full glass of lemonade, causing him several seconds of intense alarm. "Are the Mud Hens better than the Red Sox?" she asked.

Charles regarded her with some surprise. They never spoke about baseball in their house. "How do you know about the Red Sox?"

Soo-Min shrugged. "Auntie H. says they're the best," she replied, as if that explained everything.

"Well, the Mud Hens are better," Klinger told her. "Anyway, after the game, we've got to take you to Packo's. They have the absolute best—"

"Hungarian hot dogs," Malone finished with a smile. "Yes, we know."

Klinger narrowed his eyes at her in mock irritation. "I was going to say chili fries, smarty-pants. But that's not even the best part. Tomorrow, we're taking you to the Lucas County Fair."

At this Malone's mouth fell open slightly. "Are you serious? I haven't been to the fair since I was... sixteen? I took my brother Danny." She chuckled in remembrance. "We couldn't even go on any of the rides, because he kept getting sick. The big wuss."

"I've never been to a fair before!" Soo-Min exclaimed.

"Neither have I, come to think of it," said Charles. "My family always regarded that sort of activity as... beneath them."

Malone shot him a smug smirk. "Luckily, your new family is much more fun." Charles couldn't have agreed more.

"I have never been to a fair, either," said Soon-Lee. "I'm excited, but... I may not be able to go on the rides."

"Oh?" said Charles. "Do you suffer from motion sickness as well?"

The woman hesitated, biting her lip. Klinger nudged her. "Tell them, honey," he urged softly.

A slow, shy smile spread over her face. "I am going to have a baby," she said, her voice charged with barely suppressed excitement.

Malone gasped so loudly that it may well have sucked all of the oxygen from the room. "Oh, my God! That's fantastic!"

"Wonderful news indeed," said Charles with sincere pleasure. "Congratulations to you both."

Klinger's grin had the same effect as staring directly at the sun. "Thanks. We're over the moon. Unfortunately, Soon-Lee is going through the whole morning sickness thing right now. But don't worry, half-pint," he told Soo-Min. "Your Uncle Max'll go on the rides with you."

"Is there going to be a carousel?" she asked.

"A carousel, a Ferris wheel, bumper cars, you name it," he replied. "But the best one is the Octopus. It goes up, and down, and all around..."

His wife groaned. "I am getting sick just hearing about it."

Charles glanced over at his own wife, and found her staring off into space with an odd, bemused smile. "Are you all right, Malone?" he inquired. "You're looking a little pale yourself."

She shook her head, her eyes coming back into focus. "I'm fine," she said. "I'm just... so happy for Max and Soon-Lee."

After a decidedly strange dinner of Korean and Lebanese cuisine, the four adults chatted on the back porch, catching up and filling each other in on their lives, while Soo-Min played with a set of paper dolls that Klinger had bought for her. The night was warm, but not too humid. Fireflies hovered about lazily in the backyard, flashing their intermittent green-yellow lights over the grass.

"Have you been treated well in America, Soon-Lee?" Malone asked.

The woman nodded. "Very well... mostly. Toledo is pretty accepting of people of other cultures. Although..." She suddenly laughed. "Max's mother was a little cold at first. I think because I was the reason her son did not come home after the peace treaty was signed. But she is much kinder to me now. Even if we don't understand what we are saying to each other!"

Klinger chuckled. "Yeah. I don't know how I ended up with a family that speaks English, Arabic, French, and Korean."

"As usual, Max, you manage to defy all logic," said Charles with a smirk.

He ignored him. "What about you guys? How has it been, raising the half-pint?"

Malone smiled, watching Soo-Min play, totally absorbed in her current occupation. "It's been... so wonderful. I already can't imagine life without her."

Charles nodded in agreement, following her gaze. "She is a remarkable child," he said quietly. "She surprises and delights me, every single day. What I find truly amazing is the complete trust and unconditional love that she has bestowed upon us. She knows we are not her biological parents, but... she has accepted us as her mother and father. Without question." He swallowed. "It is... very humbling."

"You are both excellent parents," Soon-Lee told him.

"Thank you," he replied modestly, inclining his head. "I have no doubt that you and Max will be, as well."

"I can't wait," Klinger gushed effusively. "The things I'm going to teach little Hakeem..."

" _Hakeem!?_ " Soon-Lee blurted with a look of profound horror.

After retiring to the guest room, they changed into their nightclothes and assisted a struggling Soo-Min into her nightgown, while she insisted all the while that she was not tired. Charles tucked her into the cot next to their own bed, granted her the kiss that she sleepily demanded, and turned off the light.

As he climbed into bed, Malone curled up beside him and squeezed his arm. "Thank you," she murmured. "For bringing us out here. I didn't know how much I missed Max until I saw him again."

"Should I be jealous?" he asked wryly.

She snorted inelegantly. "Don't be silly. It would never have worked between us. But we were always meant to be friends." He felt her give a shrug. "There's just... something about him. I noticed it when I first met him. There's no pretense with him. No dissembling. He's just a sweet, good-natured guy who would give you the shirt off his back in a heartbeat."

It was hard to argue with her, after the extraordinary hospitality they had been shown since they arrived. "I must confess, it is... refreshing to be around people who give no thought to social climbing or false flattery. Almost pleasant, in fact."

"Wow," said Malone in amazement. "Did you just compliment Max Klinger?"

"I'm sure I shall regret it tomorrow, when we're surrounded by carnival hawkers and vomiting children."

She burst out laughing. "You're such a grump," she said fondly.

"Please," he replied loftily, "I prefer 'curmudgeon'."

Suddenly she hugged him tightly, almost fiercely. As Charles returned her embrace, he was alarmed to hear her give a quiet sniff. "Malone?" he asked in concern. "Darling, what's the matter?"

Just as abruptly, she pulled away with a bright smile. "Nothing. I just... love you. That's all."

Charles pushed her hair out of her face, studying her closely in the dim light. She really did appear perfectly content. "I love you," he said at length, stroking her cheek. "Silly, sentimental little thing."

She leaned in close and pecked his lips. "We'd better get some sleep. Long day tomorrow." She flopped down on her side, her red curls spilling across her pillow. "Good night, Charles."

"Good night, Malone," he replied, still frowning in confusion.

The next day, Charles discovered to his eternal mortification that his daughter — his sweet, soft-spoken, well-behaved little girl — transformed into an utter maniac at the fair. Evidently the constant stimuli of all the combined sights, sounds, and smells bombarded her poor, impressionable young mind and caused her to abandon all common sense. It was simultaneously horrifying and fascinating to witness.

It didn't help that Klinger did absolutely nothing to discourage it. On the contrary, he doted on her all day, buying sweets and winning toys for her and racing her to the rides. Charles found himself unexpectedly hurt when she declined his offer to hold her hand, electing instead to ride on Klinger's shoulders. She seemed for all the world to be far happier than he had ever seen her at home.

It was not until Soon-Lee nudged him lightly that he realized he was scowling. "Don't worry," she told him. "You are still her papa."

Charles quickly arranged his face into a carefully neutral expression. "I don't know what you mean," he said evenly.

Soon-Lee smiled, watching her husband with Soo-Min. "I understand. Max is very good with children. Sometimes I'm a little jealous of the way they take to him. And I _know_ that he will be the fun parent, and I will be the strict one." She shrugged in good-natured defeat. "But that's all right. Because a child needs both."

Charles sighed. "I'm not sure I fall under either category," he admitted. "God knows I'm not strict. All she has to do is look at me with those enormous doe eyes, and I'd give her the world on a silver platter." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "But I am not... fun. I never have been."

He looked down to see Soon-Lee regarding him with sincere interest. "Were you very serious as a child?" she asked.

He was silent for a while, lost in a sea of memories. "Oh, not always," he said quietly after a moment. "After the death of my brother Timmy, however, I was forced to grow up rather quickly. I'm afraid I lost that part of me a long time ago."

Soon-Lee gave another light shrug. "Maybe," she conceded. "Maybe not."

Before long, dusk fell, and the fair's lights were dazzling. Soo-Min announced her desire to go on the Ferris wheel. Soon-Lee declined, saying it would make her sick, but urged the others to go on without her.

"Shall we, Malone?" he asked, offering his arm to his wife.

"I'd love to."

Klinger took Soo-Min's hand. "Come on, Minnie Mouse," he said. "We'll see if we can try to spit on your folks."

" _Max!_ " Soon-Lee exclaimed sharply in disapproval.

After Klinger and Soo-Min boarded the ride, Charles helped Malone into the next passenger car, taking her cane and placing it beside him. Slowly, they rose into the air, where they had a rather spectacular view of the fairgrounds. He smiled as Malone tucked her arm through his.

"Enjoying yourself, my dear?" he asked after a moment.

"Oh, ra- _ther!"_ she said in an imitation of a posh English accent. He chuckled. "You?"

"Surprisingly, yes," Charles replied. "It's altogether unlike me, but I find myself unable to complain about a single thing all day."

"I'm so proud," she teased. He snorted. They fell into a comfortable silence, which was broken when they both decided to speak at once.

"Charles, there's something I have to—"

"Malone, may I ask — Oh, I'm sorry. Do continue."

"No, no," she said quickly. "You first."

"Very well." All of a sudden Charles felt rather ridiculous, but it was too late to go back. "Malone... am I fun?"

He turned to find his wife looking up at him incredulously. "Are you fun?" she repeated. "What a question. Of course you are."

"Really?"

"Yes!" she insisted. "I love spending time with you."

Charles leaned back in the seat with a small, dissatisfied humph. "That is not what I asked."

He tried not to squirm under Malone's narrow scrutiny. "Do you mean, are you as much fun as Max?" she asked quietly.

Damn her, she knew him far too well. "It seems I will never be as much fun as _Max_ ," he muttered sarcastically.

"Oh, Charles..." Malone squeezed his arm. "Soo-Min may be a little taken with Max right now, but no one could ever replace you in her eyes. Just the other day, she told me that you were her hero."

Charles looked at her sharply. "She did?"

She nodded. "She said that you were smart and brave, and you save people's lives every day. And you gave her a home and a family." Charles's throat began to constrict as she spoke. "Remember last night when you said her love was unconditional? Well, it isn't. She loves you because you've _earned_ it."

Charles found himself blinking back tears, at an utter loss for words. "Well. That's... Hmm." He cleared his throat with a distinctly self-satisfied smile. "Beat that, Uncle Max."

Malone slipped her hand into his. "You have absolutely no reason to feel threatened by Max, or by anyone else," she assured him. "Soo-Min adores you. So do I, for that matter."

He turned her hand over and kissed her open palm. "Rest assured, the feeling is mutual," he murmured. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

His wife suddenly straightened. "Ah. Yes. That." She swallowed, her grip tightening on the lap bar. "Well, I'd ask you to sit down for this, but..."

She was really beginning to worry him. "Malone, what is it?" he asked urgently.

She sighed in exasperation. "Crumbs," she muttered. "I had a speech prepared and everything, and now I've forgotten it. Oh, the hell with it."

She shook her head and took a deep breath. Baffled, all Charles could do was watch as she took his hand and, very slowly, placed it over her stomach.

All at once the air rushed out of his lungs. He stared at her, his mouth slack, as his brain struggled to process what she was telling him. "P-pregnant?" he finally managed to croak. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, gracing him with a huge, crooked smile.

"Oh, my God," he blurted, tears springing to his eyes. "Oh, my God, Malone!" He found himself laughing in slightly hysterical elation. "This... this is wonderful! How long have you known?"

"Only a couple of days," said Malone, her own eyes glistening as she beamed at him. "I was planning on telling everyone yesterday, but Soon-Lee sort of inadvertently stole my thunder."

"Never mind that now. Come here." He gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly and pressing kisses into her hair. "Darling, I can't believe..." Abruptly, he looked down and realized with a start where they were. "I can't believe I let you set foot on this thing! What in the hell are we doing up here!?"

"Charles, relax," she told him, soothing him not at all. "I'm pregnant; I'm not made of spun sugar. Besides, hundreds of people ride this thing every day. It's perfectly safe."

Charles was not entirely convinced of that, but it was too late to argue the point now. "I suppose," he conceded reluctantly. "But no more unnecessary risks. Please. You're carrying precious cargo."

"As you wish," Malone said simply. He drew his arm around her again, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "I hope he has your eyes," she said after a moment.

"I hope _she_ has your hair," he replied.

"Oh, we're having another girl, are we?"

Charles nodded firmly. "Of course." He suddenly smiled. "Viola."

"I like it." Malone threaded her fingers through his. "And if it's a boy? Don't say Cesario."

"I haven't given it much thought," he said. "Although I should tell you right now that I have no interest whatever in saddling any child with the name Charles Emerson Winchester the Fourth." He suppressed a shudder. "Or with the stigma which would inevitably come with it."

"I must admit, I'm relieved to hear you say that," said Malone. "Because the truth is, I was thinking..." She sat up slightly to meet his gaze. "If it is a boy... maybe we could name him Timothy."

Charles grew very still. Unaccountably, his heart began to pound in his chest, and he suddenly found it very difficult to speak.

"Timmy?" he said softly.

Malone nodded, biting her lip.

He pulled her close, kissing her repeatedly and whispering words of love and gratitude in her ear, hardly knowing what he was saying. He continued to hold her until the ride ended, and they were obliged to return to earth.

He was in a delirious, happy daze when they rejoined the others. Someone suggested ice cream — or hot dogs, or pony rides, or some other absurd frivolity. Charles agreed to it whole-heartedly.

Soo-Min was asking to ride on Klinger's shoulders again. "Why don't you give your Uncle Max a break for a while?" Charles suggested. "Come here. I'll carry you instead."

His daughter's face lit up. "Really?"

In answer, he bent down and swept her up, placing her on his own shoulders. "Up we go, little one. Hold on tightly now."

Charles resumed walking, enjoying Soo-Min's delighted peals of laughter at being so much taller than everyone else. He knew without a doubt that his back would not thank him for his impulsive decision in the morning, but he could not have cared less. Because she was happy.

And because, by God, he was having fun.

* * *

A/N: Oh my goodness, I needed this. Hell, I should have known that _M*A*S*H_ would make me feel better. It always does. So, I hope you liked it! Boy, did I miss writing about Klinger. Actually, I briefly dated a guy like Klinger. He was sweet, and fun, and we were completely incompatible in every way. In the end, we both decided we got along better as friends, and we're still friends to this day. In fact, he just texted me a really corny joke.

Now, to find a guy like Charles...

Anyway, more to come. Hopefully soon. I'm leaving for Hawaii later this week, but hey, you never know. I might find time to write a little something while I'm there!

-Octopus


	4. The Beginning

A/N: Sorry about the sporadic updates. I recently started a new non- _M*A*S*H_ story — I know, I'm such a traitor — so that's been taking up a lot of my mental energy. Anyway, you know how I mentioned at the beginning of this little series that each installment would be independent and unrelated? Well, this is going to be the most obvious example. In fact, the words "And now for something completely different" would definitely apply here. But the main theme of Charles's and Nellie's relationship still remains. And now, without further ado, an AU which answers the question: What if Charles and Nellie had met under different circumstances? Enjoy! Oh, and my thanks as always go out to **blown_transistor** for beta reading.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of _M*A*S*H_ except the box set.

* * *

The Art of the Fugue

a series of _M*A*S*H_ vignettes

by Bad Octopus

* * *

The Beginning

St. Luke's International Hospital, known to most U.S. military personnel as Tokyo General Hospital, must have been an army doctor's dream come true. While countless surgeons, specialists, and medics were being shipped off to MASH units all across war-torn Korea, the few who were assigned to the prestigious hospital counted themselves truly blessed. Located in the Tsukiji District of Tokyo's main commercial center, St. Luke's was an attractive six-storey structure overlooking the Sumida River. Founded in 1902, the original hospital had been destroyed in the Kanto Earthquake of '23, and the current building had not been completed until ten years later. Since its very beginning, however, it had been a pioneer of innovation, establishing nursing schools and residency training programs, as well as Japan's first Central Laboratory and Medical Social Services Department.

Beginning in World War II, the U.S. Armed Forces had requisitioned the facility for use as an army hospital. It was now common to see American doctors and nurses walking its pristine halls and occupying its offices. Unfortunately, it was also common to see American soldiers convalescing in its patients' rooms.

In the small, deserted reading room in the recovery ward, a red-haired young woman sat in a chair by the windows overlooking the hospital's chapel, a yellowed paperback in her hands and a cast on her leg. Beside her, propped against the wall, were a pair of crutches.

The book was _Murder on the Orient Express_ , and Nellie Malone had already read it twice. Even though she knew how it ended, however, she still enjoyed the story of the quirky little Belgian detective and his quest to solve a gruesome murder on the world's most famous train. Besides, the hospital did not have a large selection of reading material in English, and her own books had been sent back home.

Nellie sighed and took off her glasses, placing them in her lap. It was late, and her eyes were getting tired, but she was reluctant to return to her room. Her bed was strange and uncomfortable, and there was absolutely nothing to do. Except, of course, brood about her future. And that was definitely out of the question.

She never thought she would become accustomed to her thin, lumpy bunk where she had last been assigned, but now she almost missed it. And that wasn't the only thing she missed about her former unit.

A sudden noise made her look up. A tall doctor in a white lab coat had entered the reading room and was perusing the shelves and their meager offerings. Nellie thought she might have seen him once or twice before, but without her glasses on, she couldn't be sure. She set her book on the table beside her chair, but the motion caused her spectacles to slide off her lap and skitter across the floor.

Nellie scowled down at her glasses in annoyance, as if they had decided on their own to escape her custody. With her leg immobilized, they might as well have been a thousand miles away. Nevertheless, she leaned down and futilely stretched a hand toward them.

"Allow me," said a voice above her head.

She flushed in embarrassment as the doctor was obliged to bend down and retrieve her spectacles for her. "Thank you, Doctor," she said as he pressed them into her hand. "I would have gotten them myself, but..."

"Quite all right," he replied. As Nellie returned her glasses to her face, his own blurry features swam into view. At once she recognized the man; she had seen him striding swiftly through the halls since she had arrived, always looking intensely focused, but had never spoken to him. He was in his mid-thirties, rather over six feet in height, and he had a very receded hairline, a well-formed nose, thin lips, and blue eyes which held a gleam of fierce intelligence.

"I'm afraid I've been unforgivably rude," he went on. He spoke with an upper-class, non-rhotic accent; if Nellie had to guess, she would have said that he was from somewhere in New England. "I've seen you a number of times over the past few days, and I've neglected to introduce myself."

Nellie shook her head. "Don't worry about it," she assured him. "I'm sure they keep you very busy here."

"Nevertheless." He extended his hand, and she shook it. "Charles Emerson Winchester. How do you do?" He glanced down at her cast and caught himself, cringing slightly. "I'm sorry, involuntary force of habit. Of course I can see very well how you do."

"I know what you meant," she said, smiling. "Second Lieutenant Fenella Malone."

"Fenella?" Winchester repeated with interest. "Rather an unusual name."

"It's an old family name," she told him as he released her hand. "Irish."

A faintly supercilious smile touched the man's lips. "I suspected as much," he said dryly.

Nellie arched an eyebrow. "Do I detect a note of disapprobation, Doctor?"

"Not at all," Winchester replied quickly. "You certainly can't help being Irish." At her affronted expression, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "I mean..." He sighed, looking distinctly abashed. "Goodness, but I'm making a wonderful first impression. Shall I leave you alone?"

Nellie couldn't help chuckling at his obvious discomfort. "Please don't."

She gestured to the chair across from her, inviting him to sit. "You're very kind," he said graciously, taking a seat. His legs were so long that his knees almost touched hers. "Well, Miss Malone — it _is_ 'Miss'?" She nodded, still amused. "What do you think of our facilities?"

"This is an impressive hospital," she had to admit. "Although..."

"Yes?"

She smiled. "This is probably going to sound insane," she said sheepishly, "but I'm sorely missing my old post right now."

"Where were you stationed?" he asked.

"The 4077th MASH. Just outside of Uijeongbu."

Winchester drew back in surprise. "Korea? Good heavens. I was very nearly sent there myself." He shuddered visibly at the thought. "You must tell me about it."

Nellie gave a short, sharp laugh. "Where to begin? We were close to the front lines, which were always changing. We had to be ready to move at a moment's notice, so we lived in tents like the Bedouin. And aside from the frequent snipers and air raids, there were also the dangers of malaria and hemorrhagic fever."

"And you say you _miss_ the place?" he asked, incredulous. "It sounds absolutely appalling."

She shrugged. "It definitely had its challenges. But we had a great commanding officer, and an amazing group of doctors and nurses." She smiled. "In all honesty, they're the best bunch of people I've ever known. I truly hated to leave, but... it was sort of out of my hands."

"Yes, I can see that," Winchester said in a low voice, his eyes on her cast. "May I ask... how it happened? That is, if it wouldn't cause you too much stress to recount it."

She shook her head. "I don't mind, Doctor." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "Our company chaplain asked me to go with him to the local orphanage to deliver some supplies, and to remove the cast of a child who had been injured some time before. While we were there, we were caught in an air raid." She stared down at her clasped hands, reliving the memory. "We managed to get all the children out, but I wasn't so lucky. My leg was pinned under a heavy beam for several hours."

Nellie could feel Winchester's gaze on her. "You must have been so frightened," he said quietly.

"I was almost certain I wouldn't make it," she found herself admitting. "Father Mulcahy stayed with me, but..." She hesitated. "You see, just a few days before, I'd gotten the news that my little brother had been declared M.I.A. His convoy had been attacked by ground troops. He was the reason I got myself transferred to Korea in the first place; I wanted to be near him, in case something happened." She shook her head ruefully. "Well, something happened, all right."

She swallowed. "I thought... I was so afraid I'd lost him. And he was all I had left. Without him, what was the point of holding on?" She looked up to find Winchester leaning slightly forward in his chair, listening with rapt attention. Abruptly she wondered if she'd said too much. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"No, no, please continue," he urged.

Nellie tried not to blush. "Anyway, finally a group from my unit came to free me from the debris, but by that time I'd developed compartment syndrome. Our chief surgeon, Dr. Pierce, had to perform an emergency fasciotomy, right then and there." She swallowed. "I don't remember much about the ambulance ride back to camp. I must have gone into shock. I'm... told it was a bit touch and go." Suddenly she wished she hadn't agreed to answer the doctor's question. It was proving more difficult than she had anticipated. "But we made it back, and Hawkeye — that is, Dr. Pierce — he set the fracture, and repaired the nerve damage as best as he could. Not all of it, unfortunately, but I don't fault him for that. He saved my life."

"And your brother?" Winchester asked. "Did you ever find out what happened to him?"

She smiled. "He made it back alive. He's all right."

"Thank goodness for that." Nellie watched as he exhaled slowly, and it occurred to her that he'd been holding in his breath during her story. "Miss Malone, I... don't know what to say. I'm so very sorry you had to endure all that. But I am glad you're all right." He inclined his head toward her cast. "Relatively speaking."

He spoke stiffly, as if he weren't accustomed to offering comfort to people. Perhaps for that reason, Nellie was touched by his genuine effort. "Thank you, Doctor Winchester," she said sincerely.

"Please," he said softly, "call me Charles."

Nellie's heart gave an unexpected little flutter, and she wasn't entirely sure why. "Of course. Charles."

"May I call you Fenella?" he asked with a faint air of hope.

"I'd rather you didn't." He looked at her in surprise, and she hastened to explain. "What I mean is, I've never liked that name. Everyone calls me Nellie. Or Malone, or Red, or Ginger, or... any number of ridiculous nicknames."

Winchester — _Charles_ — smiled. "Nellie," he said, trying it out. Then his nose wrinkled. "No, I don't care for that. It doesn't quite suit you. Far too plain."

He was certainly not shy about expressing his opinion, this man. "Malone?" she suggested.

His smile grew. "Malone it is." He gestured toward her book, which lay face down on the little end table beside her. "May I ask what you were reading when I insinuated myself into your leisure time?"

Nellie picked it up and showed him the cover. He gave a bark of laughter. "Ah yes, Agatha Christie," he said with a patronizing smirk. "The great proliferator of pulp fiction."

"Agatha Christie is not pulp fiction," she informed him loftily. "She is an expert of human psychology."

"She certainly knows how to appeal to the lowest common denominator," he said sardonically.

 _He's teasing me,_ she thought, watching as his eyes sparkled with mischief. _What a brat._ And yet, for some reason, she didn't seem to mind. "I suppose you only read Shakespeare?" she asked, setting the paperback aside.

Charles rose a skeptical eyebrow. "I suppose you don't?" he countered.

"Oh, no?" Nellie crossed her arms deliberately over her chest and took a deep breath. "What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable!" Charles's eyes widened almost comically at her recitation. "In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me." She watched in amusement as the tips of his ears grew bright red in embarrassment. "No, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so."

He ducked his head, abashed. "I admit I deserved that."

Nellie smiled. "Yes," she said, leaning forward and patting his hand sympathetically, "you did."

His lifted his gaze to meet hers, and they both laughed.

They talked long into the night, ignoring the nurse on duty who repeatedly urged Nellie to return to her room. She learned that Charles had been born and raised in Boston, had studied medicine at Harvard, and was a thoracic surgeon. She found herself wondering how he would have fared at the 4077th. His expertise, undoubtedly, would have been invaluable. Of course, he would have hated every minute of it. Everything about him, from his expensive wristwatch to his flawless diction, screamed 'spoiled rich boy'.

She also learned that they had quite a bit in common. She learned that they both had been quiet and studious in school, they both had siblings who were nine years younger than themselves and of whom they were extremely protective, and that they shared a love of classic literature and poetry.

"You're not serious," he said upon hearing her confession. "Are you telling me that, despite your professed love of the Bard of Avon, you have never actually seen a Shakespeare play?"

"I really haven't," she replied, laughing. "Not a proper one, anyway. My high school performed _Romeo and Juliet_ , but... frankly, it was lousy. The part of Romeo was given to the star quarterback, because he was failing his other classes and needed a passing grade, or he'd be cut from the team. And of course, the coach couldn't allow that to happen." She shook her head with a grin. "What a farce. I'll never forget the roar of laughter that swept through the audience when he said that love was 'a smoke made with the fume of thighs'."

Charles burst out laughing. "Oh, Malone. You poor, deprived girl."

"I'm not _that_ deprived of culture," she protested. "I'll have you know, I've been to the Oregon Symphony on many occasions."

He rolled his eyes. "The Oregon Symphony," he said with a disdainful sniff. "Rank amateurs."

Nellie's mouth fell open. "You are such a snob!" Rather than be offended by her accusation, he simply gave an unrepentant smirk. "I happen to think they're wonderful," she went on. "They play Mozart's Piano Concerto Number 23 beautifully."

He sat up straighter in his chair. "You like Mozart?" he asked.

"I _adore_ Mozart," she told him with a smile.

Charles held her gaze, his eyes soft with some emotion which she couldn't decipher, but which filled her stomach with butterflies. "I'm pleased to hear it," he murmured.

Her cheeks grew warm, and she was left fumbling for words. At that moment, however, Charles happened to glance down at his wristwatch. "Oh, dear," he said in dismay. "I've kept you up far too late. I'm afraid I completely lost track of the time."

Nellie looked up at the clock on the wall, and was surprised to find it was nearly two in the morning. "It's all right. I enjoyed our conversation."

"As did I," he concurred. "But all the same, you are here to rest, and I have hindered you from doing so." He rose to his feet. "You must allow me to escort you to your room."

"Oh, no, please don't trouble yourself, Charles," she said, reaching for her crutches. "I can make it back on my own."

He covered her hand with his. "It's no trouble, truly," he persisted gently. "I would consider it an honor."

It was hard to turn down such a ridiculously chivalrous offer, especially as he was so earnest. Despite her protestations that she could manage perfectly well on her crutches, he insisted on hunting down a wheelchair for her. As he pushed her down the hall, she tried to ignore the infuriatingly knowing smile on the night nurse's face as they passed her desk. Why, she thought irritably, was everyone so quick to jump to the wrong conclusion?

Although, in this case, was it _really_ all that wrong?

They arrived at her room, which stood empty, waiting for her. She had no roommate; since women were not assigned to combat units, female injuries were very rare. Charles flipped on the light and wheeled her inside. She was obliged to take his hand as he helped her out of the wheelchair and onto the bed. "Thank you," she said, cursing the flush on her cheeks which refused to go away.

"You are most welcome." He cleared his throat, before adding, "I can't remember when I've had such a lovely evening."

The searing heat in Nellie's face increased. "Neither can I," she managed to reply. What in the hell was the matter with her? She was behaving like a smitten adolescent. She hadn't behaved like a smitten adolescent even when she _had_ been an adolescent.

Charles moved her wheelchair within easy reach, and meticulously arranged her bedclothes around her. "I'm off duty tomorrow. May I come visit you again?"

Nellie looked up at him in mingled surprise and disbelief. "You would come back on your day off?"

"It would be my pleasure," he said sincerely.

If she were not careful, she might find herself falling for this man. _Too late,_ she thought wryly. "Yes," she said recklessly. "I would like that very much."

His blue eyes shone with obvious delight. "Splendid," he replied. He gave a gentlemanly half-bow which Nellie found simultaneously silly and endearing. "Until tomorrow then."

She nodded, unable to conceal her own excitement. "Good night, Charles."

Her breath caught in her throat as he took her hand in his and lightly brushed his lips over her knuckles. "Pleasant dreams, Malone," he murmured.

Nellie watched him go, flicking off the light and leaving her in darkness, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Yes, I expect so," she whispered with a smile.

True to his word, Charles Winchester returned the next day, and the day after that. Even after a busy shift, he still seemed to find time to visit her, and his visits always lasted longer than either of them had intended. Seeing him quickly became the highlight of Nellie's day.

She soon discovered that her new favorite pastime was making him laugh. Though he certainly had his own dry, devilish sense of humor, he was a rather serious person, and tickling his funny bone required finesse. Every time she succeeded in coaxing a laugh from him _—_ not just a cynical chuckle, but a full-fledged belly laugh — she felt an absurd sense of pride and accomplishment.

Her joy at seeing him, however, was often tinged with regret. She knew all too well that her convalescence at Tokyo General was only temporary, and that soon she would be returning to the States. She also knew, after conversing with one of the chattier nurses at the hospital, that Charles belonged to one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Boston. It was painfully obvious that they belonged to two drastically different social spheres. In all likelihood, once they parted ways, she would never see him again. After being forced to leave behind all her friends in her former unit, this second blow was almost too much.

It was this grim prospect which dominated her thoughts during one of Charles's visits. He had brought a Go board which he had purchased in the Ginza to her room, and was teaching her how to play. He noticed her abstraction when she made an especially foolish move and jeopardized her entire territory.

"Malone, is something the matter?" he asked. "You seem preoccupied today."

She smiled at his concern. "I'm all right. I'm just thinking about the future." She shook her head. "It's ironic. I was so upset when I was told I was being moved to Tokyo General, and would have to say goodbye to all those wonderful people. But now that I'm here..." She paused, biting her lip.

Charles leaned forward in his chair. "Yes?" he prompted gently.

She swallowed. "I think I'll be even sadder to leave this place," she confessed in a low voice.

Charles didn't answer her right away. He stood up and began pacing her room, his hands shoved in the pockets of his lab coat. Nellie felt her traitorous cheeks begin to burn again. Why had she ever admitted that to him? Now she had just made things awkward and uncomfortable between them. Then again, that was what she did best.

"I'm sorry," she said, her throat tight. "I shouldn't have said—"

He stopped abruptly and faced her. "Malone," he said very stiffly. "The Tokyo Symphony Orchestra is performing a selection of Mozart's works this season. They're no Boston Symphony, of course, but they're very good. I wonder..." He cleared his throat. "I don't suppose you would care to accompany me?"

Nellie felt her mouth fall open. Stupidly. Like a fish. "I... I would love to, but..." Her power of speech seemed to have temporarily abandoned her. "Are you sure? I mean, do you really want to drag an invalid all over Tokyo?"

Charles surprised her again by taking a seat beside her on the bed and gathering her hand in his. "I believe I would take you to Vienna," he said quietly, "just for the expression on your face upon seeing the concert halls where Mozart performed his music for the first time."

At the conviction in his voice, and the feeling of her hand enveloped in his, she felt her pulse begin to race. "You may regret your offer," she managed to say.

"Why on earth would I?" he asked, appearing genuinely confused.

She gave a humorless smile. "I find my company bores most men into catatonia."

He squeezed her hand. "Then those men are fools," he said seriously. "Because I can say with complete confidence that I have never in my life met anyone as enchanting as you."

His praise made Nellie's eyes sting with tears. "Charles..." She shook her head, looking down at their intertwined fingers. "You're obviously a man of class and good taste. And, if what I've heard is true, great wealth and social standing. I'm... I'm nobody." She drew in a breath which hitched in her throat. "I hesitate to form any sort of attachment, when I know that nothing could ever come of it."

Charles tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "I'm afraid you're mistaken there," he said softly. "You see, from where I am sitting, you are most decidedly not 'nobody'. You are a kind, intelligent, very well-read and extremely beautiful young woman who can quote Shakespeare from memory and who rescues orphans during her off-duty hours." He reached up and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "The only thing I can't figure out is why in heaven's name you haven't been snatched up years ago."

Hope, that foolish and stubborn emotion, ignited somewhere deep in Nellie's heart and slowly began to grow. _Maybe,_ it whispered to her, _just maybe..._

"Say you'll go with me," he murmured, moving closer. "I shall be inconsolable if you don't."

Nellie felt a crooked smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Oh, well, we can't have that," she whispered.

Her eyes fell shut involuntarily as Charles closed the distance between them and brought his mouth to hers. She felt herself grow light-headed as he kissed her slowly, slipping his arm around her, bringing her closer. Without conscious thought, her own arms found their way around his shoulders, her hands caressing his neck, his jaw. As he drew her bottom lip gently into his mouth, she made a soft sound that caused his hold on her to tighten.

Several seconds — _minutes?_ — later, Nellie rested her forehead against his cheek, trying to catch her breath. "Mother of mercy," she said shakily. "That is not at all how I expected this conversation to end."

"End?" Charles gave a chuckle as he stroked her spine with long, dexterous fingers, sending a delicious shiver through her. "My dear, this is only the beginning."

* * *

A/N: Sorry. This was entirely pointless. I just wanted to write it. Darn these silly plot-bunnies. The next installment will return to my original format. Hope you liked it anyway. Let me know!

-Octopus


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